


Belle Etoile

by sunsetmog



Category: Rutshire Chronicles - Jilly Cooper
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 18:54:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetmog/pseuds/sunsetmog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After discharging himself from hospital and playing at the Appleton Piano Competition, Marcus wants nothing more than to go to Alexei.</p><p>After soliciting Rupert's help to get to the airport, Marcus is terrified in case Alexei isn't there to meet him in Moscow, and Rupert does his best not to show his despair at both winning and losing a son in the same day.</p><p>Set post-Appassionata.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Belle Etoile

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kali](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kali/gifts).



> This directly follows on from the end of the Appleton Piano Competition in Jilly Cooper's Appassionata. Thank you to HV for the beta and O for the hand-holding.
> 
> Happy Yuletide, kali! <3

The flight to Moscow was the most terrifying four and a half hours of Marcus' life, and that included the moment he'd woken up in Northladen General's intensive care unit with a tube down his throat, not knowing if he'd ever see Alexei again. Now, flying towards Russia with no idea whether Alexei would be there to meet him at the other end, Marcus had nothing to compare the way he felt to. The paralysing fear he'd always felt before today about going on stage to play in front of people had nothing on this. He shivered convulsively, and pulled the blankets up to try and combat the fierce cold of the air conditioning in the cabin.

He couldn't stop shivering. He'd left his father and Taggie behind at Heathrow, Rupert holding the press at bay so that Marcus could pass unhindered through the gate and into the safety and security of the airport. Marcus still couldn't believe the way his father had come around, and how utterly marvellous he'd been all day. Rupert, who had always treated Marcus a little like something he'd stepped in by accident, had looked at him today with wild, unadulterated pride in his eyes, and Marcus couldn't get over it. His father—his _father_ \- had held off the press and told them all how proud he was of Marcus, how it didn't matter that he was gay, and that he'd always be Rupert's son. Marcus hadn't felt such an overwhelming, desperate outpouring of love towards anyone since the moment Nemerovsky had leapt out on stage at Covent Garden and into Marcus' heart.

Marcus remembered little of the journey to the airport, other than Taggie in the front seat next to Rupert, with her hand on his knee, and Marcus in the back seat, desperately trying to reach Alexei on Rupert's mobile phone as Rupert hurtled down the motorway. Taggie kept telling him how wonderfully he'd played at the Appleton, and how proud they both were of him, her gruff, teddy-bear's voice like a balm after so many months locked outside the bosom of his family, but it was Rupert who was the revelation.

Rupert kept saying, over and over, how terrific Marcus had been on stage, how proud he'd felt and how Marcus had taken on the world and won. Marcus had listened as much as he'd been able to, overwhelmed by the affection and respect in Rupert's voice, but his hands hadn't stopped shaking since the moment he'd played the final crash of chords on the stage earlier that evening. He fumbled the phone keys, unable to get the numbers pressed in the right order, his fingers too clumsy now that his exhaustion was hitting him for real.

"Are you sure you won't stay?" Rupert asked, meeting Marcus' eyes in the rear view mirror. "You've only just checked yourself out of hospital. You should rest."

In any other circumstances, Marcus would have stayed like a shot. He'd been craving any kind of relationship with his father his whole life, and the knowledge that this might be it, this might be the one moment where they could share this euphoria and love and affection was killing him, but he couldn't. He couldn't stay. "I love Alexei," he said, his voice strong even though his breathing still wasn't under control and he was beginning to remember the discomfort of his hospital bed with something close to affection. His asthma had come close to killing him today, but he wasn't going to give in to it, even though he still had a rash on the back of his hand from where the tape had kept the needle for his drip in place. He clutched Alexei's battered white flower in his fist, and concentrated on that, on Alexei. "I'm sorry, Dad, but I have to go to him."

Rupert sighed. "Before I asked Taggie to marry me," he said, glancing across at her, and then back at Marcus, "I went to America, to see if it could make it hurt less, being apart from her. It didn't work."

"It just hurts more," Marcus said. "Being away from him just hurts more." He took a deep breath. "He always said we belonged to the world, and not to each other, but now—I think he's changed his mind. I need to see, at least. I need to try." _I need him_ , he thought, desperately.

Taggie twisted in her seat, hooking her chin over the back of the seat as Rupert hurtled along the motorway at ninety. She held her hand out for Marcus to squeeze. "Will you ring us up? When you get in? We'll worry, otherwise. We'll stay up and wait for you."

Marcus nodded. "Yes," he said. He didn't add that he might need some help finding a hotel room—or paying for a hotel room—if Alexei wasn't there to meet him.

"And come back to Penscombe," Rupert added. A muscle pulsed in his cheek, and Marcus had never imagined what it might feel like to make this choice, between his father and Alexei. He'd never allowed himself to imagine that he might ever have the chance to have both of their love. "When you leave Moscow. Come to Penscombe. Stay with us." It was the nearest his father had ever come to begging.

"If it works out with Alexei—" Marcus began.

"Bring Alexei," Rupert said. "If he's going to be my son too then I should meet him. We should meet him." He curled his hand over Taggie's, still going ninety. He kept glancing in his rear view mirror; Marcus wondered if there were paparazzi on their tail. He wouldn't be surprised—the press had followed Rupert around for Marcus' whole life, and now Marcus was gay, and winner of the Appleton piano competition, and _alive_.

Marcus' eyes filled with tears. "Dad," he said.

Rupert nodded briskly. It was the closest Marcus had ever seen him come to breaking down. "You were wonderful up there tonight," he said, finally, taking the exit for the airport with barely a glance at the road. The traffic was light, but not light enough to allow for the scant attention Rupert was giving the road. "We were so proud."

"I'm proud too," Marcus managed, and Taggie held her hand out behind her for Marcus to grasp again whilst he got his breathing back under control.

Marcus had no idea how his father did it, but he took the mobile phone and called someone, and then there was a call back that Rupert took—still going twenty miles an hour over the speed limit - and when they got to the airport their car was met, like magic. After a desperate, too-tight and over-too-soon hug from Rupert, and then Taggie, Marcus ended up being swept through the airport like a celebrity. When he looked back, he could see Rupert fending off the press with his arm around Taggie's shoulder, holding her close.

He was first on the plane, and Rupert had got him the quietest, most tucked away seat in first class. And now they were in the air, and Marcus was reduced to wrapping the blanket even tighter around him and shivering, terrified that Alexei wouldn't be there to meet him. Rupert and Taggie had sworn to him that they would get in touch with Alexei before Marcus landed. But what if Alexei didn't want him? What if he wasn't there? What if he'd changed his mind and thought love shouldn't be tethered? What if Marcus had misunderstood the note? For the thousandth time he smoothed it out, reading it again and again and desperately, desperately hoping. _I was wrong. With love all is possible. I am jealous of the world. Alexei_.

Marcus clung to the battered philadelphus, breathing in the sweet apple scent, and crossed his fingers and _wished_.

He was still shivering an hour later.

He concentrated again on the long, fierce hug Rupert had given him before bundling him into the safekeeping of the airport staff. "I love you," he'd said, into Rupert's hair, and Rupert had just hugged him closer, the nearest he'd come to affection in the whole of Marcus' life.

"I've never been prouder of you in my whole life than I have been tonight," Rupert had told him. "Now go get him, and bring him home."

Marcus watched _Circle of Friends_ on the inflight entertainment system, and refused offer after offer of whisky and vodka and complimentary wine. Coupling alcohol with all of the medication in his system couldn't be good for his breathing, so Marcus clung to his glass of iced water and his philadelphus and thought mindlessly of Alexei, of the endless conversations, of how it felt to lie in Alexei's arms. How Alexei was always cold, and how he'd kiss Marcus over and over and over again until he was warm. The endless, endless wait as Alexei flew through the air on stage, the length of his jumps, the taste of his mouth. Marcus' hand in his. _Peter and the Wolf_.

He considered sleeping, but sleep was impossible. He was so jittery he knocked over his water, and the stewardess had to mop up his table with armfuls of napkins. She was a kindly, warm girl—with a name badge that said _Amy_ \- who'd clearly seen all the papers, just like everybody else by now, and knew exactly why he was flying to Moscow. She also knew, just like everybody else who'd read about him and Alexei and the Appleton and Rupert, that he'd almost died in hospital, and that he'd discharged himself against doctors' orders. She brought him extra blankets, and hot Ribena from her own personal supply. She reminded him of Taggie, with her dark hair and her soft, kind smile, and he hiccupped a sob. He was drenched in sweat.

"I'm sorry," he apologised. "I'm just so desperately tired."

"I know," she told him, patting his shoulder and bringing him another blanket to stop him shivering. "But we won't be long now. Is he coming to meet you?"

"I hope so," Marcus admitted, hands still shaking. He chewed at his lip, and waited to land.

They let Marcus off the plane first - by virtue of his connection with Rupert, or because he was clearly managing to stand by force of will alone, he didn't know - and he rushed through passport control and customs, brandishing huge bottles of Givenchy for men and whisky and vodka from duty free. He had no luggage but the crushed philadelphus, his note from Alexei, and his duty free. Customs took one of the bottles off him, but Marcus didn't care because what if Rupert and Taggie hadn't got a hold of Alexei? What if he wasn't there to meet him? What if—

Marcus carried his clanking carrier bags of duty free towards the arrivals gate, desperately aware of the bag of Roubles in the pocket of his trousers that Alexei had brought with him that time he'd come to the cottage to steal Marcus' heart. His coat was Rupert's, and too thin for Moscow, but he didn't care. It was Rupert's, and it smelt like Penscombe, like the home he loved. Then he was through the barriers and into the arrivals hall, and he couldn't see Alexei anywhere. But he couldn't have been looking hard enough because there was Alexei, huddled in his giant wolf-coat, ignoring the shitstorm of photographers that had turned up from fuck knows where to stare at him and wait for Marcus to show up.

He saw Marcus and his mouth creased into a wide, desperate, unbelieving smile. He was already moving, closing the space between the two of them, ignoring all of the other people coming through the gate with trolleys and bags. And then Alexei was gathering Marcus up in his arms, cupping Marcus cheek in his palm and kissing him on and on, Marcus kissing him back and not caring that he couldn't breathe.

Alexei cupped Marcus' face in his hands. "I was jealous of the world," he told Marcus softly, gazing into Marcus' eyes, like Marcus was everything, the moon and the stars and everything in-between. "But now I have the world."

"Oh god, Alexei," Marcus stammered. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but stand there and stare stupidly at Alexei's beautiful, pale face.

"Come with me," Alexei said, wrapping an arm around Marcus' shoulders. "I have left the car. I stole it from my agent. He is probably not my agent anymore since the police will arrest him for parking against all the rules, and I probably don't have the car anymore since I just left it outside. I needed to be with you."

Marcus laughed, breathlessly, and pressed himself to Alexei's side, not sure if his legs would keep him upright any longer. "I love you," he said, as Alexei calmly punched a photographer and pushed through the throng of reporters to get to the doors, and into the freezing Moscow night.

"And I love you," Alexei told him, shoving through a ring of security and policemen, all arguing furiously about who was going to move Alexei's car, which was parked diagonally in front of the arrivals doors. "And your dad is a nice man. He said we could live in a cottage on his land. Is that like a peasant? A cottage for farmers? How come he gets the big house?"

Marcus tumbled into the front seat of the car, clanking the duty free into the footwell. "Cottage is a euphemism," he said. "Dad doesn't really deal in hovels. There will probably be honeysuckle and foxgloves and Taggie will put up yellow curtains at all the windows." It sounded a lot like heaven. It would be heaven if Alexei was there with him. He felt like he was going slowly crazy, exhaustion and overwhelming happiness slowly getting all mixed up inside his head.

"Ah," Alexei said, accelerating out of the arrivals lane and scattering security men like bowling pins. His driving was reminiscent of Rupert's, and Marcus considered briefly if all men fell in love with men like their father.

Then, just for a moment, Alexei's face betrayed some of his age, lined and exhausted and desperate. "I was terrified I'd lost you," he admitted, crossing lanes of traffic without even looking. "I found out you were in hospital and I die inside. I wasn't with you."

"I'm here now," Marcus said, awkwardly.

"I skipped second act to watch you on the TV," Alexei said, proudly, his mask firmly back in place although his grip on Marcus' hand was unforgiving. "You were amazing. I tell everyone that you are mine."

"I am," Marcus told him softly. "Yours, I mean."

Alexei glanced at him. "Yes," he said. "I am taking you home."

—

Rupert watched Marcus' arrival in Moscow on the BBC breakfast news, his face curiously immobile as he watched Alexei bundle him up inside his huge coat and hustle him out of the airport. Taggie, watching Rupert carefully, curled into his side and pressed a kiss to his jaw.

"You won't lose him again," she told him, tangling her fingers into his.

"Won't I?" he asked. "I feel like I never had him. I had him for one night and then I lost him again. I feel like the world's biggest shit. It's my own fault." He stared at the screen for a moment, before turning back to Taggie. "But wasn't he amazing last night? The way he played?"

Taggie prudently didn't say anything about all of the wasted years; all that time where Rupert complained that Marcus got on his tits. "He was amazing," she said. "And Alexei seemed nice, didn't he?" She'd spoken to Alexei after Rupert had, telling him in her gruff voice that Marcus needed looking after, and feeding up, and promising to fax over her recipes for Marcus' favourite foods for whilst he recuperated. Rupert had promised to write them out for her so that Alexei could read them.

"He reminds me of me," Rupert said. "And if he loves Marcus half as much as I love you, then Marcus is the second luckiest man on the planet. Luckiest man in Russia, that's for sure."

Taggie laughed, wrapping her arms around Rupert's waist. "I wake up every day thankful to have you," she said.

Rupert kissed the top of her head. "Can I take you to bed, Mrs Campbell-Black? It is morning, after all. And we haven't been to bed yet."

"Aren't you going to wait for Marcus to ring? He said he would."

"We'll take the cordless upstairs," Rupert said, but inside he was sure that now that Marcus was with Alexei, the last thing he'd do would be to call Penscombe.

"In that case," Taggie told him, her mouth curving into a wide, beautiful smile, "Mr Campbell-Black, I believe you may have your wicked way with me."

Rupert laughed, and scooped her up into his arms. "I love you," he said, pressing his mouth to her temple. "I really fucking love you."

—

Marcus rang home later on, when Alexei was in the kitchen making Marcus breakfast. Marcus was propped up in bed, in Alexei's too-large pyjamas, a bear in a British Airways sweater sitting on the pillow next to him.

 _(I buy him for you,_ Alexei said, once he'd pulled back the sheets and pulled them up around Marcus, tucking him like Marcus was the most precious thing in the world. _It was stupid present, and then you dump me, and I was so broken-hearted that Colin was the only consolation._

 _Colin?_ Marcus howled.

 _Colin_ , Alexei said, with a nod. _It's on the label. His name is Colin, and he stays_. _Like you_. _You stay_.

 _I stay,_ Marcus told him, unable to hide his smile. _I stay forever_.)

"I'm here," Marcus told Taggie, as she prodded Rupert awake. They were sleeping the day away, Bianca and Xav spending the day with Kitty and little Arthur.

"We saw on the news," Taggie said, gruffly. "You looked so happy."

"I am happy," Marcus said. "Really happy. How's Dad?"

"Missing you already," Taggie said, and she was delighted to see that it was true. Rupert rolled his eyes at her, but she knew. She really knew.

"Alexei said he offered us a cottage." Hope wavered in Marcus' voice.

"Yes. I know Alexei's based in Moscow but maybe you could use the cottage for holidays—"

"I want it," Marcus said. "Can I tell Dad?"

Taggie passed the phone to Rupert, curling into his side as he talked. "It's yours whenever you want it," he was saying. "I'll send you the keys. No, I'm not giving one to Tab. This is for you. And Alexei. Maybe it'll go some way to making up for everything." Rupert paused. "No, I'm sorry. You were so great there tonight, and I was so proud. You were wonderful. And Alexei promised he would look after you." He dug his fingernails into Taggie's palm, and Taggie kissed the back of his hand, amazed by the immense strength of character that Rupert was displaying in not crying down the phone. _I love him_ , he'd said, in amazement, earlier. _I really fucking love him_.

Later on, when Rupert had rung off and crawled down the bed to bury his face in Taggie's crotch and eat her out, Taggie tangled her fingers in his hair and held on tight.

—

The following morning, when Taggie woke up, the sun was shining loud and bright through her window, and apart from the noise of the yard, the house was quiet.

Rupert was sat on the end of the bed, watching her, fully dressed.

"Where is everyone?" Taggie asked, groggily.

"I bunged Lysander fifty quid to take Xav and Bianca to the zoo. He's taken Arthur and Kitty, too, so we've got the place to ourselves."

"Kitty had them yesterday, too. We owe them more than fifty pounds; Bianca and Xav are monsters when they're away from us for too long. And what about the yard?"

"This is why I pay a fortune to the grooms," Rupert told her, sneaking up the bed to kiss the corner of her mouth. "They can look after things for a while."

"The phones," Taggie said, because the phones were always ringing, owners and backers and press and riders, all trying to make themselves a part of Rupert's day.

"Put the ringer on silent and switched the answerphone on," Rupert said, shrugging. He pulled at Taggie's nightgown, sliding his hands up Taggie's sides and cupping her small, perfect breasts.

"You're incorrigible," Taggie spluttered, as he ducked his head and took her nipple in his mouth.

"I love it when you talk dirty to me," he said, with a grin, swapping his attention to her other nipple. "Do it again."

"Rupert," she squealed, batting him away. He sank his teeth into her nipple, knowing that she loved it. "Oh gosh," she said, suddenly realising. "I know why you're hot and bothered, it's because of Lysander, isn't it?"

Rupert didn't say anything, which is how Taggie knew she was right.

"I'm right," she said, wondrously. "Was he half naked in the yard again?"

"Bloody idiot was out riding hell for leather first thing," Rupert told her, sliding a finger in between her legs. "Came back covered in sweat. Tipped a whole bloody bucket of water meant for the horses over his head instead of taking a shower. Water everywhere."

Taggie stroked her fingers through Rupert's hair as he fingered her open. "Did he see you looking?" she asked, still stroking her hair.

"No," Rupert said, sliding one finger inside of her and stroking her clit with his thumb.

"But you wish that he did."

"Tag—"

Taggie shushed him. "It's okay," she told him, because it was. She knew, like she knew nothing else, that Rupert wouldn't ever betray her. He loved her more than anything, and she trusted him.

The relationship that Rupert and Lysander shared was unique. Sometimes Taggie thought they were more like father and son than friends, but Lysander looked after Rupert too, still hero-worshiping him even though he was married to Kitty, the love of Lysander's life.

It was a strange position to be in, Taggie knew, married to this great, incredible man and knowing something about him that she wasn't even sure that he knew. She didn't know how to put a name to the way Rupert felt about Lysander, but sometimes they'd do this, they'd both get off talking about him, Taggie talking and Rupert listening, and it felt incredible. Rupert was pathologically jealous of anyone who showed any kind of sexual attention to Taggie, but Lysander - and the way Rupert felt about him - was different somehow, different for both of them.

"He came in and tipped a bucket of water over himself, and you wished he'd seen you looking," she repeated, softly, hands in his hair.

Rupert shivered under her touch. She loved him so much, and she adored the way that when it came to Lysander, her let her take charge. She pushed him onto his back, and knelt over him, her nightgown suddenly absurd in the heat of the moment. She pulled it over her head and unbuttoned his trousers at the same time, feeling the sleek hardness of his cock beneath her palm. He wasn't wearing underwear.

"Christ, Tag," Rupert managed, hands on her hips. He kept stroking her, touching her in the small of the back and the curve of her stomach as she wrapped her slim fingers around his cock. "I love you."

"I know," she told him, bending down and kissing his mouth. Half the time she ended up reassuring him that it was okay to want Lysander the way that he did, that she knew he loved her and wasn't actually going to try and have an affair with Lysander. That the two of them, Rupert and Taggie, were safe, were sacred. "It's okay. Tell me what you'd do to him." She stroked his hair away from his forehead, thumb against his temple.

Rupert tore his gaze away from hers. "I'd want you to watch," he said, as she slowly moved her hand on his cock.

"Yes," she said, because in this fantasy, she was always watching.

"I haven't sucked cock since I was at school," he admitted, but it wasn't a surprise. She knew it all. She loved all of these things about him, all of it, every last one.

"Go on," she prompted, tugging his shirt out of his trousers, and stroking his stomach with her palm. It drove him crazy.

"I'd go down on my knees for him," he told her. "Right there in the middle of the yard. I'd unzip him and suck his cock." She ran her finger over his lips; Rupert never blushed, and he never got embarrassed, and this was the only way she'd ever discovered to make him flush.

"And I'd watch," Taggie told him, still moving her hand, but a little faster now. "Then when he's come, I'd make you come upstairs and lick me out."

"Christ, you're turned on," Rupert told her in wonder, sliding his finger in between her legs.

"Only as much as you are," she told him, eyeing his cock. When Rupert started to stroke her, too, she let her head fall back as he touched her.

"Ride me," Rupert asked her, and he held her hands as she shifted, as she slid down onto him like she had a thousand times before. It never got any less hot. He found her endlessly, wonderfully erotic, and he slid his hands up to cup her breasts as she rode him.

Taggie came with a cry, as Rupert thumbed her clit and mouthed at her nipple.

"I love you," Rupert told her, as he finished himself off, crawling over her and jerking off over her stomach, hot and desperate.

"I know," she said, sleepily. "I love you too."

He slid into her arms and pulled the duvet up over them, closing his eyes as he buried his face in her shoulder.

—

Marcus called later, whispering so that Alexei wouldn't hear. "He's amazing," he told Taggie in wonder. "He won't let me do anything. He keeps bringing me food in bed and making terrible cups of tea."

Taggie giggled. "He's in love," she told him, as if Marcus might not know that.

"So am I," Marcus confided. There was a pause. "How's Dad?"

"Swanning around like he's discovered the holy grail," Taggie said. "He keeps watching the Appleton video and rewinding the good bits."

"He's tone deaf," Marcus said. "He doesn't know which _are_ the best bits."

"They're the bits with you in," Taggie told him, confidentially. "He's here, do you want to talk to him?"

"Yes," Marcus said, as Alexei came back into the bedroom balancing a tray with endlessly fluffy scrambled eggs and a jug the size of Marcus' head with freshly squeezed orange juice in. "Hi, Dad."

"Is Alexei treating you well?" Rupert asked, without bothering with hello. "I'm going to get Honeysuckle Cottage redecorated for you. I'll send you the keys."

"I am treating him very well," Alexei said, grabbing the phone from Marcus. "He is looking more like human being now. Less like corpse."

"Good," Rupert said, after a beat. "Is he happy?"

Alexei wouldn't let Marcus have the phone back. He looked Marcus up and down with a lascivious eye. "He is happy," he said. "Happy with me."

"Get him a piano," Rupert told him. "Then he'll be happier."

"Is already done," Alexei said. Marcus picked uselessly at his scrambled egg, and Alexei scooped up a forkful and held it to Marcus' lips. "It will arrive next week. He will play to his heart's content."

"I'm glad," Rupert said, and not for a beat did he give any sign of his desolation at the thought of Honeysuckle Cottage going unlived in. "Tell him we'll come out and see him soon. Xav and Bianca miss him."

"I will," Alexei said, simply, and Marcus took the phone back, letting Alexei steal a mouthful of eggs.

"We'll come back soon," Marcus said, feeling endlessly loved and endlessly happy. "We'll come and stay."

"Do," Rupert said, not letting a hint of his despair at losing Marcus to the other side of the world show. "You're always welcome."

"I know," Marcus said, softly, and for the first time, he really did.

[End]


End file.
